<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Teapot by california_112</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414119">Teapot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112'>california_112</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (1969)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Episode: s01e01 My Late Lamented Friend And Partner, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, My First Work in This Fandom, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:40:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,706</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff levered himself from the sofa with some difficulty, tripping over his own feet more than once on the way to the bathroom. He needed to clean himself up, that's what he needed, a wash and a shave, and a shower. Well, shower might be pushing it a bit far. The other two would have to do.<br/>-or-<br/>The period just after Marty's death was rough for everyone. Jeff especially didn't take it too well.</p><p>SPOILERS FOR S01E01 'MY LATE LAMENTED FRIEND AND PARTNER'</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Teapot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by S01E16 'When The Spirit Moves You'.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning after Marty Hopkirk was killed, Jeff Randall almost joined him.</p><p>Usually, Jeff was a very stable, level-headed person- which is why his own behaviour surprised him so much. Waking up, he briefly wondered why he was a) still wearing his suit from yesterday, and b) crunched up on the sofa, before memories of last night's events returned. The phone call from Jeanie. The wild drive to her flat. The disbelief.</p><p>At first, it had been simple denial. Marty couldn't be dead, he just couldn't! Why, Jeff would go into the office later, and- and-</p><p>Marty wouldn't be there. He'd been hit by a car, pronounced dead at the scene. He wouldn't be there.</p><p>He wouldn't be anywhere, anymore.</p><p>          <em>"I'll see you tomorrow, Jeff."</em></p><p>
  <em>          "Sure, ciao Marty."</em>
</p><p>'Ciao', was that all their final conversation had been? Pleasantries, meaningless filler?</p><p>
  <em>          "Does that man of yours ever relax."</em>
</p><p>Well, now Marty would have his chance at relaxation. Permanently.</p><p>Jeff levered himself from the sofa with some difficulty, tripping over his own feet more than once on the way to the bathroom. He needed to clean himself up, that's what he needed, a wash and a shave, and a shower. Well, shower might be pushing it a bit far. The other two would have to do.</p><p>The wash was the easy part, just filling the sink with the coldest possible water and splashing it over his face, and it certainly woke him up. When he looked in the mirror after the first round, the look he got back was only very slightly less haggard, so he went back in for two more. At the end of five minutes, he was fully alert, and, pointedly ignoring the almost-empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table, he deemed his hands steady enough to shave. After preparing everything else, he picked up his razor then froze in place, giving it a long, hard stare.</p><p>Marty was gone. The business was falling apart. His own bills were piling up daily. Marty was gone. The rent was due. The business was collapsing. Marty was gone. His car was broken. Marty was gone. The accounts didn't balance. Marty was…</p><p>His hand shook, and the sliver of silver glinted softly. He watched, mesmerized, as though a third person, as the tremor in his hand got worse and worse, an internal conflict played out quicker than he could comprehend, his other hand gripped the basin, knuckles white-</p><p>The razor flew across the room, landing in the shower tray with a pathetic tinkle. Jeff poured himself the end of the bottle, and drank it in one. He then threw his tie out the window, sat down on the sofa, and cried.</p>
<hr/><p>A week after Marty Hopkirk had been killed, his wife Jeannie walked into his old office for the first time since his death, and looked around. The lack of her late husband's presence was telling.</p><p>Left to his own devices, Jeff Randall had single-handedly turned the place into a tip. Files were piled everywhere except the cabinet drawers, the remnants of a grief-fuelled clean-up drive, and these mingled with abandoned plates, takeaway boxes, glasses, and cups. The only clear space other than the one where the outer door swung open was at the very centre of Jeff's desk. As Jeannie walked over, trying not to tread on too many documents, she noticed that a strategically placed stack hid Marty's chair from his partner's. As much as Jeff insisted, he couldn't be alright, if there had been any room left in that doubt after a week of mood swings, lost sleep, and the occasional short outburst.</p><p>Whilst she was squeezing between Jeff's desk and a stack of bills, the outer door opened again, and a figure stepped into the office. It would have been familiar if it weren't for the rumpled hair, dull eyes, and two days' worth of stubble- but that was becoming familiar in itself. Jeff Randall was falling to pieces.</p><p>          "Morning, Jeannie!" His tone was the complete opposite of his appearance, bright and sober, and he cracked a slightly crazed smile. "Great to see you. How are things?"</p><p>          "Everywhere." She replied, watching as her friend marched to his desk, leant over, and poured himself a cup of apparently cold tea from a nearby teapot. "I thought we had a nine o'clock appointment, what kept you?" It was said without reproach.</p><p>          "Late night, couldn't be avoided." Jeff replied, downing the tea in one. "I'm really sorry, Jeannie." Suddenly, he began patting his pockets, searching. "Forgot something." he said quickly, then half-ran back out the door.</p><p>Now thoroughly worried, Jeannie finished worming her way through the gap, then made her way to Jeff's desk. She sat carefully in his chair, and analysed.</p><p>In the central space were four items: a piece of paper, a pen, a teacup, and a teapot. It was the last of these which interested her most, but her eyes were drawn to the piece of paper- 'last will and testament'? And it wasn't a copy of Marty's, either- the name at the top was 'Jeoffrey Randall'. Thinking about his behaviour moments ago, maybe that was a question for another time. Or, it was so obvious it didn't need answering.</p><p>The teacup was now empty, but one sniff confirmed Jeannie's suspicions; this had recently held alcohol, and a sluggish amber droplet in the bottom proved it. She was slightly disappointed- after one incident a few days ago involving her having to support Jeff back to his flat, she had made him promise not to drink during the day- but also intrigued. Where had it come from? He'd promised he'd take all the bottles out of the office before she got there, and she believed his word, yet here was evidence to the contrary. Then, she remembered the item of her initial interest.</p><p>It was smaller than average for a teapot, brown in colour, and of an ordinary, plain design. She hadn't seen it before, so it had to be new, but not first-hand: there were some scuffs to the finish, a chip on the spout. The lid fitted too deeply for Jeannie's taste, but it told a simple story. The inside stunk of whiskey.</p><p>Well, at least Jeff hadn't broken his promise; there were no <em>bottles</em> in the office. However, he'd found a loophole in a simple teapot, and that had Jeannie worried. If he was looking for loopholes at all, that meant he was desperate, and if he was desperate, then-</p><p>          "Back again!" Jeff was standing in the doorway, an uncharacteristically bright smile on his face. "Forgot to close the street door." He caught the expression on her face, and his own changed abruptly. "Hey, what's the matter?"</p><p>          "I'm worried." Jeannie replied cagily, placing her hands on the desk.</p><p>Jeff started, a seemingly unnecessary reaction for the lack of severity in the reply.</p><p>
  <em>          "I'm worried."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          "When weren't you?"</em>
</p><p>He shook his head a little, navigating between the stacks on the floor. "About what?"</p><p>          "You." Moving between the desks, he was on the receiving end of a very penetrating stare. "This is because of Marty, isn't it?"</p><p>          "What is, this reorganization? Well, I felt it was time for a change. The old system was horrible really, I-"</p><p>          "Jeff, you know what I mean." She sighed. "The teapot."</p><p>          "…Ah." At least he didn't try to deny it, Jeannie thought. "The, um…the teapot."</p><p>Jeannie stood quickly and took both of Jeff's hands in hers, staring into his eyes, imploring. "Please, Jeff, give it up. It's horrible that Marty's gone, really it is, but we've got to- we've got to try and m-move on!" She was trying to be commanding, but her own words were destroying her composure. "Marty's g-gone, and he's n-not c-coming back. He's dead and g-gone and-" Abruptly, she stepped into Jeff's arms, and he hugged her back, trying to comfort her. That was hard, with the beginnings of tears forming in his own eyes.</p><p>          "Jeannie, it's alright." He said, soft and sympathetic. "Take all the time you need."</p><p>          "But y-you should too!" She was leaning back a little, trying to hold his gaze again. "You know that w-what you're doing to yourself isn't g-good. Please, Jeff…f-for me…"</p><p>
  <em>          "If anything happened to me, what would poor Jeanie do?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          "Poor Jeanie would have fifty percent of the business. You know I'd look after her."</em>
</p><p>          "You know I'll look after you. And...myself." he added, a little grudgingly.</p><p>          "Th-thank you." Jeanne pulled away and felt for a tissue, rubbing her eyes. "Really, Jeff. It means a lot to me. And I know it would mean a lot to Marty."</p><p>They stood apart silently for a minute, both half-turned away, both half-watching the other. Eventually, Jeff cleared his throat. His voice sounded barely-level. "I'm sorry about the papers everywhere. Really, this doesn't look like the kind of business you want to have a fifty percent share in."</p><p>          "Oh, it's alright." Jeannie replied, a little of her usual brightness returning to her voice, "I suppose a filing sort out might be what the business needs to get on its feet again."</p><p>          "So you know about that." Jeff shook his head a little. "How could you not, it was all that Marty talked about."</p><p>Papers were sorted, quietly and neatly, for the rest of the morning. Neither said very much, but both had the same thoughts. At lunchtime, Jeff stood up, stretching his back.</p><p>          "Fancy some tea?"</p><p>          "Not the way you have it." Jeannie said pointedly.</p><p>There had been no more remarks on that situation since earlier, but Jeff knew he had to address it. "I like mine black, with sugar." he returned, and picked up the teapot. The only area of the room that was properly clear was just to the left of the door, where a large wooden cabinet sat. Jeff put the teapot on the top shelf, and closed the door with a decisive snap. "You?"</p><p>          "Right now I'd prefer some coffee, black and strong." Jeannie replied. "And I think you could use some as well."</p><p>          "Yeah. How did you guess."</p><p>Jeannie gave Jeff an encouraging smile, and eventually it was returned. They both pulled on their coats, and stepped out into the corridor.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my boy...please take care of yourself</p><p>I cannot say how much I love this show, the whole concept of it, everything about it. It's just brilliant! So, my first work is very morbid, of course... :'D Happier works to come though!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>